


Day Three/Four: Surprise Kiss/Heated Kiss

by Wolveria



Series: OC Kiss Week 2017 [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Cathar, Clone OCs - Freeform, Clones, Clones Being Placed in Confusing Situations, F/M, Jedi OC - Freeform, Jedi's Not Giving Two-Shits About Codes, Kissing, OC Kiss Week, OC Kiss Week 2017, OCKissWeek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9296000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolveria/pseuds/Wolveria
Summary: Sergeant Draks gets a surprise visit from his Commander.(For the OC Kiss Week 2017 Tumblr prompt!)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Misha'la Linnsho, Draks, Minus, Galar, and Solus are of my own creation.

Sergeant Draks heard the laughter before he’d even reached the door to the bunks. By its loud, boisterous quality, he knew it belonged to their heavy gunner. What Minus found so funny was anyone’s guess – the trooper had a tendency to find humor in the most inappropriate subjects.

Draks wasn’t left wondering for long; the double doors opened with a smooth _whoosh_ to reveal his Jedi commander. With arms crossed and lips pressed together, the Cathar was trying (and failing) to suppress her amusement at Minus’ laughter.

“Sarge!” the red-haired heavy gunner called from where he sat on the cleaning bench, a lazy grin on his face. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence?” The question earned him a look from Knight Linnsho, one ear lowered to show her annoyance. An expression Draks had learned long ago.

The sergeant paused with a blink, not having expected to see their Jedi so soon after the last diplomatic mission on Yar Togna. It had been a troublesome journey; the atmosphere had been lethal for oxygen-dependent species, and they’d had to remain on respirators the entire time planetside. Linnsho had seemed agitated with the breathing apparatus as evident by the constant flattening of her ears. She’d seemed especially irritable as well, which hadn’t been like her at all.

Draks had been returning from the communal showers to get rid of the sweat and stench of wearing the same body glove for days. Now he wore the standard-issue grey slacks, shirts, and boots, his black hair still damp from the water.

Trying to ignore the flush in his cheeks, he sent her a quick salute as he stiffly stated, “Sir, I apologize for my state of dress. We weren’t expecting you.”

“I apologize for not forewarning you,” she replied with a tilt of her head, curiosity marking her features as she took in his attire.

“Ah, she’s seen Minus in the nude,” their engineer quipped from where he sat on his top bunk, dressed only in his blacks as he tinkered with an assortment of parts spread before him. “I think our commander will survive the sight of your bare elbows.”

The heavy gunner guffawed while Draks winced, thankful for the umpteenth time that they had been assigned a Jedi who wouldn’t court-martial them for such comments.

“Yes, and I learned to signal the door comm from that time forward, did I not?” she responded to Solus in a sharp tone that only made Minus laugh harder, her ears laid back in a show of embarrassment.

With a small amount of pride, Draks realized he had learned to read the Cathar fairly well, if only because he was given so many opportunities. Between Minus’ teasing, Galar’s biting tongue, and Solus’ complete lack of self-preservation; it gave him lots of practice in reading her expressions.

“What can we help you with, sir?” the sergeant interjected before Minus could complete the no-doubt raunchy thought about to exit his mouth.

Linnsho gave him a look. Usually such a glance was followed by her saying _Please, call me Mish,_ which Draks would always answer with a _yes, sir._ It was a bit of banter they enjoyed and only pretended to find tiresome. But this time, she only gave him a somber stare.

“I wanted to talk to you, actually,” she replied with a slight cock of her head. “In private, if that is agreeable?”

“Of course,” Draks answered, oddly unable to interpret her intent with the relaxed position of her long ears. “We can talk in the officer’s conference room, if it’s free.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” she responded with a nod, his curiosity only growing as he glimpsed nothing of her mood.

“Oooh, Sarge is in trouble, isn’t he?” Minus said in a loud stage whisper, earning a groggy _shut up, Minus_ from Galar’s bunk. Draks sent his own annoyed glance to the heavy gunner before following the Jedi Knight from the room. Their sleeping quarters led into one of the many side corridors in the massive Coruscant barracks, and while they traveled down the hallway to their destination, it gave time for Draks to think.

He knew Minus was teasing, he _knew_ that. But he still couldn’t help but feel equal parts curious and apprehensive as he glanced sideways at the Jedi. Her face was as equally opaque as her ears. He was fairly sure he hadn’t done anything to displease the commander, but…

Already his mind was sifting through Yar Togna, trying to pinpoint instances of inadequacy or subpar performance. They hadn’t been with Linnsho long, only a few months, but already they were a well-coordinated team despite the differing personalities among them. Something he took great pride in.

Perhaps she wanted to brief him on another upcoming mission? The GAR had its hands full with the war, and the Coruscant Guard was sometimes used for off-world missions, normally of the diplomatic variety as the Republic sought to court more and more allies to its cause.

By the time he palmed the door open to the vacant conference room, Draks had worked himself up to a dozen scenarios, half of which involved Linnsho critiquing his leadership skills (which she had never done before) and the other half involving classified missions that could not be addressed over a comm.

Between the two, he would take the dangerous, suicidal mission over disappointing his Jedi commander any day.

“All right. What’s on your mind, sir?” he asked once the door had slide closed behind them, his heart jumping with apprehension as she palmed the doorpad to lock it.

 _Cool it, trooper,_ he chided himself harshly. _If she was truly unhappy with you, she’d have gone over your head to Commander Fox._

Would she, though? From what he could tell, she valued honesty over protocol.

Draks thought he did a fairly reasonable job of projecting a calm composure despite his inner turmoil, but the lift of her left eyebrow told him otherwise.

“You are nervous, Sergeant,” she stated with her characteristic honesty that bordered on bluntness. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“N-no?” he responded as his composure started to slip away. “At least, I don’t believe so?”

The Jedi cocked her head again, studying him in that way where he wasn’t sure she was seeing him through the Force or through the keener senses of her species.

“The sheen of sweat on your forehead says otherwise.” By her expression and dry tone, he couldn’t tell if she was joking, so he gulped and replied:

“I was… am… concerned that perhaps you were dissatisfied with our run of Yar Togna.”

Both of her eyebrows traveled upwards this time, and her ears finally moved in an expression of surprise.

“Of course not.” The Cathar gave one of her rare smiles and Draks felt some of his muscles lose some of their tension. “Sabre Squad was wonderful, as usual. You should be proud of your men.”

“Yes, sir. I am,” Draks responded with his own smile. It was true. He was damn proud of his troopers, despite their numerous setbacks and unconventional methods.

“I do not believe you are capable of dissatisfying anyone, Sergeant Draks.”

He nearly choked. From the concerned look on her face, it was clear the double-meaning was lost on her. It happened less and less as time went on, but once in a while, the Cathar said something that revealed Basic was not her native tongue… much to the squad’s eternal enjoyment.

“So…” Draks began rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to let the awkward moment pass. “What… did you want to speak to me about, sir?”

Linnsho opened her mouth but hesitated, both ears laid low as she expressed uncertainty.

“Now I feel foolish,” she responded. “I had an allotment of free time and wished to stop by the barracks, and thought I would speak to you while I was here. I did not intend to worry or alarm you.” Her eyes went round in a way that only the Cathar could achieve as she added, “I sincerely apologize, Draks.”

“It’s-it’s fine, sir,” he replied, experiencing guilt at making _her_ feel guilt. “You needn’t concern yourself.” But she continued to look abashed, so he gently prodded her verbally. “Did you… need something specific? From me?”

Now it was the Jedi’s turn to look abashed, the doubt plainly visible on her down-turned ears. There was something about it that was almost… sad.

“Misha’la?”

He had hoped invoking her first name, something Draks almost never did, would garner her attention, and it worked. She focused her wide eyes on his, studying his face for a moment.

“What is it? Please,” Draks said, gaining confidence as the care he felt for his Jedi outweighed all else. “Let me help you, whatever it is. You can depend on me. You know that.”

They’d been through several layers of torment together, and Draks trusted her with his life. A thousand times over. And he was fairly sure she knew that.

He waited for her to speak, wondering what could possibly be on her mind that would cause her to hesitate with such obvious anxiety. But she never did.

Instead, Linnsho stepped forward. Directly in front of him. Face inches away as she moved into his personal space, shutting down his capacity for higher thinking and freezing his muscles as surely as if he’d been hit with a stun blast.

Before he could think or breathe or move, her lips were suddenly _there,_ pressing against his with warmth that was so unexpected and soft and strange.

Rough, brown robes pressed against the front of his thin shirt as the rest of her body followed, soft warmth sending a shot of electricity down his spine as his brain fully short-circuited. He was so startled that he provided no resistance, pliant and pliable as her momentum carried him back against the wall.

Draks didn’t know how to react or respond. He had led men through dozens of firefights that they should have never survived. He had been thrown into a death-pit by rogue Mandalorians to fight all manner of horrible beasts. He’d even witnessed the dark side of the Force manifest itself from an ancient temple predating the Jedi, and yet—

Draks had never felt so unprepared in his life.

Thankfully, Linnsho broke the kiss after a few seconds, her expression searching as she looked long and deep into his face, their breaths intertwining in a way that was almost as intimate as the kiss.

Then she frowned.

“I did it wrong.”

The sergeant was, again, at a loss for words and action. He had no idea what had just happened. Or _why_ it had happened.

“What…” he finally responded after several confused blinks. “What was that?”

“I believe you call it a kiss,” Linnsho stated matter-of-factly, her eyebrows furrowed as she tilted her head. Draks noticed she was standing very close to him still, and his face began to flush in a way that would be quiet obvious with its intensity.

“Yes, sir. I _know_ what a kiss is, but why…” He worked his jaw but no words left his mouth as he found himself unable to properly voice the _what the fuck?_ spirit of the moment.

She shrugged in a causal fashion, and responded easily, “It is how your kind expresses affection, yes? I wanted to show my appreciation of everything you have done for the Ambassador and me.”

Draks could only gape at her response.

Her frown further magnified as she said, “I did it incorrectly. I knew I would.” And she followed it with an even _more_ confusing, “I should have practiced first.”

“You…” Draks pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t… That’s not…”

“I do not understand,” she continued, ignoring his growing exasperation. “Humans press their faces together to show fondness. I know they do. I researched it on your Holonet.”

Draks slowly lowered his hand away from his face.

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” the Cathar responded, chin slightly jutted forward in pride. “I studied it quite closely.” Draks _knew_ his face was on fire, but Linnsho didn’t seem to notice as she added, “The technique was correct. It did not seem very complicated. But something felt… off.”

Draks shook his head before she could continue on. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Sir, you’re telling me… your people don’t… kiss?”

“Well…” she tilted her head to the side, an ear perked upward, “they do, but not as frequently as humans. And it is done in much more intimate settings.”

Draks _did_ choke this time, drawing a concerned look from the Cathar.

“Okay, that’s… Yes, that’s the same. We’re the same, in that regard. Our people.”

His Jedi’s nose scrunched in disagreement, and he would have found it endearing if he hadn’t been so utterly flustered by her actions.

“That does not sound correct. I have seen many images of humans kissing their offspring, or members of a family unit kissing one another.”

Draks took a deep breath.

 _Why? Why does this kind of thing always happen to me?_ he internally vented while turning gaze toward the ceiling. Steeling his patience, the sergeant looked back to his Jedi and said:

“That is true, but… that’s a different kind of kissing. What you did,” and Draks had to take a moment to compose himself, “that was the kind of gesture that would be reserved for more… personal interactions.”

“Oh.” Draks began to nod, but she added, “I… do not understand.”

 _She’s going to make me explain, isn’t she?_ Draks thought with an inward groan. Though he realized he couldn’t complain too hard; at least she hadn’t kissed him in a room full of gawking, gossipy brothers. They were worse than a flock of clucking nunas. By the end of the day, half the garrison would have known (excluding the officers – his brothers weren’t fools), and he would have never heard the end of it.

“Uh… generally, when one kisses another person like that, they are expressing… romantic interest. A deep affection that would… uh… go beyond mere friendship.”

Her brows furrowed and she seemed genuinely contemplative, as if the mysteries of kissing were something she took very seriously. Perhaps she did. Jedi were odd like that.

“I see,” Linnsho responded after a moment of pondering, during which Draks was made highly aware that his back was still pressed to the wall as she had apparently forgotten the meaning of personal space.

“It is confusing, I do not understand the nuance of it, but I grasp the general idea.”

“Good,” Draks quickly responded, eager to leave the conversation as quickly as possible. “If that’s all, then—“

“Can I try it again?”

Draks just… stared at her. Absolutely floored.

“W… why?” he finally asked, her frown deepening at his question. “Why would you want to… do that?”

“Kiss you?” she clarified with her eyebrows raised, and he could only nod stupidly in response. “I believe I know what went wrong. But I would have to try again to determine if I found the… miscalculation.”

“What is it?” he asked, curious despite himself. And he couldn’t deny it, there was a tiny spot of warmth in his middle that was growing larger at the thought that… well, that someone wanted to do _that_ with him.

“I did not ask your permission first,” his Jedi responded with perfect seriousness. “I believe that was the missing component. Your desire to be kissed.”

 _This is not happening,_ he faintly denied. _This is not happening, this is not happening, this is not—_

“Okay.”

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the response. Probably him.

“Really? Are you positive?” Linnsho looked hesitant now, which Draks found humorous, considering she was the one who had led him away with the intent of ‘showing her affection.’

“Sure. I mean, I guess.” Draks rubbed the back of his head as he fumbled his words, and she looked entirely unconvinced, so he sighed and lowered his arm. “I mean… I would be… uh… flattered, if you did that… with me. If-if you’re still willing to. Sir.”

He could almost hear Minus’ boisterous laughter in his head, and imagined the gunner gleefully shouting, _Nailed it!_

If he didn’t die of embarrassment after this, it would be some kind of miracle.

“I am,” the Jedi responded with a soft smile, and while he was still reeling from what was happening, he trusted her. He’d bled on the battlefield with her. They’d saved each other more times than he could keep count. What was a harmless kiss between fellow soldiers?

Draks did not feel afraid as she drew closer. _Confusion,_ yes. A little bit of trepidation? Possibly. A healthy amount of anxiety? _Definitely._

But as her soft, dark lips pressed against his once more, melting with a strange warmth that he didn’t know was possible for another being to have, all of that fell to the wayside. Draks realized she had been right. It _had_ been jarring the first time, but now…

Now, as Draks slowly reached forward, hesitantly at first, to gently rub down her curved sides, it felt much different. He shut his eyes, savoring the various sensations, heightened by his lack of sight. He was irrevocably drawn to the heat of her lips, pliant and searching, and a thrill that felt suspiciously close to a battle-rush shot through his gut.

She was _everywhere._ Her woody scent, the tips of her fingers shyly moving up his jawline, the press of her warm chest against his own.

He was suddenly very grateful he had shed his armor beforehand, as he felt like his body temperature had risen several degrees. Draks had no idea what he had been expecting, having never been kissed before, but it hadn’t been _this._ As if they’d been transported from the conference room to a nebulous of heat and touch and sensations that were quickly overwhelming him.

He broke the contact this time, dull warmth spreading over his skin where they had made a physical connection, despite much of it being made through layers of cloth. Draks was amazed to see her pupils, which were ordinarily round when she was not in distress, were even larger than usual, nearly swallowing up the remaining blue.  He wasn’t sure how to feel about the state of her lips; slightly swollen from use. He decided on oddly pleased.

“I understand now,” his Jedi stated with a lulled quality to her voice, “why one would not wish to share such an experience with a member of a familial bond.”

“Glad I could be of assistance,” he responded in an attempt at a blasé demeanor that probably didn’t fool her in the least. Especially given that his hands were still resting on her hips, and hers were resting on his shoulders.

He had the irresistible urge to run his hands over her brown fur, fingertips tracing the striped pattern over her cheeks.

Removing his hands with more speed than was probably polite, Draks cleared his throat as he rapidly changed the subject. He couldn’t quite yet come to terms yet with the fact _he had just been kissed by his commander._ Not once, but _twice._

“So… uh…. If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Hmmm?” she responded with a hum that sounded as heavy as her eyelids.

“Why… uh…” Draks swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to collect his thoughts and calm his sizzling nerves.

_Focus._

“You seemed… agitated, on our mission. May I ask why?”

The Jedi blinked, her pupils narrowing as she focused through the haze that had also inflicted itself on the sergeant. Her ears dropped into a low, abashed position.

“I… do not enjoy wearing respirators. They are too confining.” She studied his face more closely and said, “That… is why you believed I was displeased with you.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then reopened them before adding, “It looks like I owe you another apologize, Sergeant Draks.”

“N-no, sir, it’s fine. You, uh…” _More than made up for it,_ he wanted to say. If he was a more daring clone, he might have said it, and possibly pursued where this sort of… _thing_ could go. But he respected his commander too much to take advantage of what she most likely saw as a nothing more than a simple gesture of fondness.

“It’s fine, sir. No apologies needed,” Draks concluded with an awkward smile that fooled no one, least of all a perceptive Jedi. But she let him save face as she gave him a slight bow of her head.

“We should return,” Linnsho replied as she retracted the physical contact, leaving him feeling oddly cold. He even noticed the absence of her radiating body heat once she moved away from him, toward the central door to exit the conference room.

“Right. You know how brothers like to talk,” he replied with a nervous smile as he prepared to follow her out, but she gave him a frown.

“I do not see how their enjoyment of speaking is relevant to the situation.”

Now his widening smile was genuine as he shook his head, unable to stop the laugh that escaped him.

“Never mind, sir.”

They walked in silence down the corridor; Draks wondered if Linnsho sensed the oddness between them. He was sure she did. She was a _Jedi,_ after all.

Once they were in the hallway proper, but before they were about to enter the bunk, Linnsho stopped walking. Draks gave her a questioning look, but she didn’t meet his eye right away.

“Sergeant…”

“You needn’t worry, sir. I will be discreet about… I will be discreet,” Draks stated, only mildly fumbling over his words. Linnsho finally met his eye, the tips of her ears drooping.

“It’s… not that,” she took a deep breath, and it was comforting to see the Jedi wasn’t any more equipped to deal with the situation than he was. “If you do not wish me to stay, I will return to the Temple.”

Draks understood what she was actually saying. _Was what I did a mistake? Did I go too far? Are you still comfortable in my presence?_

The sergeant reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder – a safe enough gesture in the middle of the hallway.

“You’re always welcome here with us, sir,” Draks assured her, looking her straight in the eye. “Our home is your home.”

Linnsho blinked, then covered his hand with her own as her expression softened.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sir,” Draks responded as he removed his hand.

“Draks, how many times have I asked you?” Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, providing the perfect example as to why Sabre Squad was hers. “Call me Mish.”

The sergeant returned a grin as he palmed open the door.

“Yes, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> More to come from Mish, Draks, and the crew.


End file.
